


A Cat In Gloves: Part 3

by esoemp



Series: A Cat in Gloves [3]
Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Angst with a Happy Ending, Dirty Talk, Dissociative Identity Disorder, Dom/sub Play, F/M, Français | French, Happy Sherlock, Healing Sex, Implied/Referenced Child Abuse, Implied/Referenced Rape/Non-con, Oral Sex, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD, Sex, Table Sex, diD I MENTION SEX
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-02-10
Updated: 2017-02-11
Packaged: 2018-09-23 06:10:17
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 9
Words: 15,155
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9643856
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/esoemp/pseuds/esoemp
Summary: Neither Sherlock or Samantha know how to be in a romantic relationship, and things get complicated. Sherlock begins by attempting to solve the puzzle of seducing Samantha into the bedroom again while practicing a great deal more patience than he is accustomed to and getting some guidance from John.There is some backstory about Samantha's past but you don't have wait long for the sex. ;)





	1. With His Hat Cocked Sure Defiantly

**Author's Note:**

> Hi again! I enjoyed writing this for a number of reasons. First, it's fun and hot to write smut. Secondly, it's helped me work through some painful relationships of my past, giving me an opportunity to "re-write" history and come to peace with what could have been or one day be with someone as accepting of the bizarre and mad as the character of Sherlock. 
> 
> Thank you so much for reading and I hope you enjoy it. If you have any comments or suggestions, especially about how I might improve my writing please let me know! I know I need a LOT of work in that area and I really appreciate the feedback! Apologies for making Samantha a Mary Sue--I'm going to try my hand at writing Johnlock after this is finished.

Sherlock had never had a girlfriend. And if he measured the relationship by John’s standards, he didn’t have one now. The romance he and Samantha had inaugurated was certainly abnormal. She definitely loved him. She continued to come by the flat everyday after work to clean and keep him and John company like she used to. The two of them agreed to keep her on as a maid—if only so they could spend time together without any noxious smells emanating from the kitchen and because they recognized Sherlock would forget himself and create a horrendous mess without realizing it.

Sherlock wanted to continue paying her, but she adamantly refused to accept on the grounds she was his _sweetheart_ now and that’s what sweethearts did. He was disappointed to relinquish his control over the arrangement. And he’d grown to like the idea of having a maid for a lover. He enjoyed the notion he’d have some authority over her as her as her boss in a very sexy – _clean that up Samantha or you’ll be punished no really I’m just kidding come over here and clean me up_ —kind of way. But Samantha the “suddenly a psychologist” pointed out that for him to act as her boss was an unhealthy “dual relationship” as well. Sherlock was familiar with the term but he rather thought their relationship would progress at the speed he was comfortable with—being able to issue her _to a degree_ orders and having her listen to him. For her own good of course.

Sherlock was disturbed how uncomfortable he had suddenly become with the concept of her as an independent woman. After all that meant even if she was head over heels in love with him he still had the capacity to make her leave him should he ever get out of line. He wasn’t sensitive to the emotional needs of others, and the idea of being abandoned was truly frightening. And so he allowed their relationship to progress at a speed that was at the very least comfortable for her. Which was the problem. They hadn’t had sex again after the episode at the airport, and, despite his good intentions, Sherlock was becoming increasingly frustrated.

After she released him from his bonds in the chair at the tarmac she’d reverted to her shy, embarrassed nature, which he found one of the most endearing parts of her personality. Gone was the sadistic seductress and bondage queen to whom he’d blurted ridiculous accolades of lust and love to after concluding their savage act of lovemaking. She averted her eyes from his, which searched for signs of regret. But she didn’t _seem_ regretful, merely self-conscious. He was more than a little uncomfortable himself. He’d lost himself in her just moments before and was now a mess of bodily fluids. His arms and legs were aching offensively. She had not been gentle. Nor had he wanted her to be. Her legs were shaking as well, and she looked as wrecked as he was from the exertion.

Clearing his throat he suggested they make their way to the car Mycroft and John left for them outside the building. Thank the heavens it was unoccupied. He wasn’t sure he was prepared for anyone—but certainly not one of Mycroft’s men—to see either of them so obviously disheveled. Annoyingly John and Mycroft left her bags in the backseat. Humiliated by his lack of clean clothes he noted it was very likely the perpetrators of this endeavor fully intended to mock him. Sherlock untucked his shirt and attempted to cover up the wet stains of their come as he opened her door and then slid into the driver’s seat, wincing at the pain from his hips. John could have at least left him his Belstaff.  

He and Samantha sat in dazed silence for several minutes in the parking lot trying to process the events of that evening. Where should they go now? The question of her place or his weighed heavily in the air before Sherlock _achem_ ed and started the car, opting to drop her off at her apartment before returning to 221B on his own. He had some choice words for his flat mate and he didn’t want to push the relationship with Samantha faster than she was comfortable with by making a mistake now. Samantha looked out the window absently while he deduced whether she would find this acceptable. Hesitantly he extended his hand and brushed her pinkie finger with his own. She looked at him sheepishly but returned the gesture affectionately enough. _She’s mine_ he thought wonderingly. It was clear she had no intention of boarding the plane and he relaxed slightly in the assurance they would not have to part. When they arrived at her place he embraced her gently, proffering an awkward kiss on the lips as he explained he should return to his flat. The tension in her body diminished substantially. She had also been apprehensive of his objectives.

As he entered his flat Sherlock realized John had already turned off the lights and gone to bed. Grateful for the peace and lack of observation by his friend he proceeded to the shower and let the hot water cleanse his fevered worries away. “This is a good thing,” he said aloud in his most convincing tone to his reflection in the mirror. A very, _very_ good thing.

The next morning John greeted him with a nauseatingly clever smile but said nothing. _Bloody right you jackass_. John returned his attention to the paper as Sherlock smoldered and made some tea, trying not to look too pleased by the outcome of the forged kidnapping.

He anxiously waited for a call or a text from Samantha but his phone stayed silent. He wasn’t sure what to say to her and didn’t want to come across as desperate so he didn’t initiate a conversation either. He played his violin. He thumbed through papers on his desk and checked his phone every five minutes hopefully. As the time of her established arrival after her job at the lab approached he found himself coming a bit unglued, sitting in his favorite chair and jostling his legs in anticipation, his hands steepled against his lips as he deliberated on the hundreds of possibilities of what she was thinking at that very moment.

Thankfully John had the discretion to leave the flat on a presumably made up errand so he and Samantha could be alone and was not privy to the state his friend was in by the time the clock reached 5:30pm.

Relief washed over Sherlock in thick waves when he heard the latch click and Samantha entered the room with her carryall. Their eyes met momentarily before she furrowed her brow and looked away in a deep blush.

 _Ah._ So she _did_ have regrets. She looked back up to him and registered his fear before she crossed the room and planted a tender kiss on his lips. He hummed a little in pleasure despite himself and his breath caught. She caressed his cheek lightly before pulling away and taking a seat on the couch opposite his chair. Good. She wasn’t filled with regret as much as uncertain what she should do next.

Samantha searched his eyes for an answer he wasn’t sure he could provide. Finally she exhaled the breath she’d been holding and admitted, “I don’t know how to do this.”

Sherlock waited anticipating her next words. He didn’t know how to do “ _this_ ” either. He’d never had a lover before. He wasn’t a virgin by any means—some cases required him to play the role of a seducer—but he’d never been emotionally intimate with anyone to this degree before he’d met Samantha.

“I wouldn’t be a normal girlfriend. I can’t be that for you.” She said with an expression of shame on her face, her eyes becoming glossy with moisture.

“I…I don’t think I can be a normal… _boyfriend_ ,” he replied, the word “boyfriend” sounding alien coming from his mouth.

“There are a lot of things you don’t know about me yet. And I’m not sure you’ll want to stay with me after you find them out.” She paused, and searched his eyes for understanding.

“I love you, Sherlock,” her voice filled with tenderness as she looked at him before turning her gaze down toward her hands. “More than I’ve ever loved anyone in my life.”

“I,” he paused. The proper response was obviously to say, “I love you too.” But he couldn’t seem to muster the courage to be so vulnerable. “I’m exceedingly fond of you as well.” He winced, cursing himself for his own ineptitude in expressing sentimentality.  

Samantha exhaled a little laugh before regarding him with fondness and acknowledgment of his hopeless nature.

There was no question about how he felt about her and they both knew it. He didn’t have to actually say the words for her to understand, but he cleared his throat anyway and pursued gamely in almost a whisper, “I love you too, Samantha.”

Her expression illuminated and tears began to form in her eyes. Suddenly he was struck by the urge to scoop her up in his arms and hold her. But when he moved to leave his chair she flinched and pulled back into the back of the couch warily, struggling to mask her fear of physical intimacy. Sherlock leaned back and she visibly relaxed. In the progression of their courtship thus far he had pushed her past her limits and he didn’t want to make those same mistakes again.

Samantha nodded as though she could read his thoughts, and ventured bluntly, “Obviously we can’t go back to the way things were before. But I would like to try being in a real relationship. With you.” And added, “If you’ll…have me.”

Given that Sherlock had spent the last several hours wondering if she would have _him_ he was eager to accept any proposition she may have in that arena. He desperately wanted to make her happy. To make her want to be with him. To hear her laugh with him and know he gave her that pleasure. But how could he do that? He simply didn’t know how to proceed. Sherlock knew what most women wanted in a romantic relationship but he’d never envisioned himself doing any of those things. And Samantha wasn’t just any woman. John would know what to do. But the idea of seeking relationship advice from his flat mate sounded daunting at best. After some deliberation he decided on the proper course of action.

“Please, Samantha. Tell me what I can do to make this work.”

She blushed before answering. “I…I don’t want to slip into…being Angela.” She grimaced. “I want to be with you like I am now.”

“I would like that too.” He uttered before he could stop himself.

Angela was a mask of sorts for Samantha—a part of her she had learned to employ when she felt she was unable to experience her sexual desires. Somewhere along the line—he assumed at the onset of puberty—Samantha developed this persona as a means to measure the temperature of the room and play the character she thought others desired. Or the role she had to play to survive. If the room wanted her to be a sexy enchantress with a heart of stone she was Angela. If no unachievable romantic expectations were present she was Samantha. Surprisingly, the trauma of the kidnapping itself the night before did not cause her to “switch” so simple fear was not the catalyst. Sherlock imagined for Samantha being with him as herself was a little like losing her virginity. He found this concept to be delightful. This also proved she wanted to give all of herself to him, that she trusted him not to reject her. Sherlock realized she must have been very, very lonely. No wonder they’d been attracted to one another.

She smiled self-consciously and asked, “Can we…go slow?”

“Yes.” His eyes widened at the simplicity of his answer.

She smiled. That beautiful smile. “Thank you, Sherlock. Thank you,” she said and leaned forward. “Now. On to business.”

“And what business would that be?” He dared to return her smile, amused at the sudden twist in the conversation and feeling a very real sense of deja vu. Samantha was acting like herself again.

“What shall we name that snake?” She narrowed her eyes expecting him to object. After all, he didn’t _name_ his experiments.

“Hmmm. I think you should choose.” He replied coyly. “I’m…no good with names.”

“Bertha then.” She sat up and crossed her arms defiantly.

“Bertha.” He was appalled she’d chosen such an… _ugly_ name.

“Ha! I knew it! You want to choose a name you’d like.” She grinned triumphantly. God, when had she learned to deduce so much about him?

He sighed in defeat. “Alice then.” He waved his hand expecting this choice to be rejected on the grounds he hadn’t given enough consideration to this unbelievably important issue. So embarrassing.

“Hmmm,” she pondered as she touched a corner of her jaw with one hand. Her gloveless hand. She really _did_ trust him. “Yes,” she affirmed and giggled. That musical laugh. “I like it,” Samantha declared decidedly. He had made her happy. This was a good start.

In the 12 and a half days that followed Sherlock and Samantha were companionable enough, enjoying witty banter and discussing cases with John. Samantha’s curiosity in his experiments bloomed once again, and he noticed she had grown desensitized to the repugnancy of his more sordid projects as she was overtaken by her interest in exactly what he was doing. But every time he reached to her, to hold her in his arms she withdrew internally.

The first time he reached out to her she was holding a tray of specimens in the kitchen. They had been teasing one another all afternoon and she seemed jubilant enough, so he’d tried to nuzzle the nape of her neck from behind as he laced a hand around her abdomen affectionately. She froze in horror at his touch and dropped the tray, its contents crashing to the ground and spilling across the floor. She pulled away from his arms as he tried to apologize for startling her and offer comfort. She shook her head and forced a smile, assuring him it was ok. He was stricken by her response and the rejection of his conciliatory efforts but also confused as to what he’d done _wrong_. Every sense of her was relaxed right up until he touched her, when she’d been overtaken by panic. 

Finally, Sherlock decided he had to ask John for help. Much to his relief John didn’t chide him or tease him for his inquiry.

“It’s ok, Sherlock. I’ve been expecting this. I just didn’t want to overstep my bounds.” John didn’t seem phased at all by his friend, the most brilliant man on the planet, asking for love advice.

“Anyone can see you two are deeply in love,” John began, “but I can see you aren’t…progressing the way you’d like.”

Sherlock was stunned. Perhaps John was more in tune to the nuances of their courtship than he’d imagined. Sherlock relayed the progression of events following the intensity of their joining at the tarmac, omitting sultry details en lieu of stating that Samantha had been the one to initiate. John listened sympathetically and sipped his tea without making any comments or jokes. Sherlock felt incredibly vulnerable, and John seemed to appreciate the magnitude of his desperation in asking for help. The only time John smiled a little mischievously was when Sherlock vented about his desire to bang the hell out of Samantha every time she was in his presence. And how he quite literally couldn’t even touch her. And his guilt over wishing Angela would just show up and fuck the ever-loving shit out of him before he died from frustration. John seemed only mildly surprised at his friend using so many expletives in his descriptions, as Sherlock was not prone to using profanity. But John stayed completely silent until Sherlock exhaled his breath and looked up expectedly for answers to his plight.

“Alright Sherlock, I’m going to give you a lecture about what it’s like to have PTSD and you are going to listen. I know you hate being educated by us lesser creatures but I think you can appreciate the necessity in doing so now.” He smiled before his face grew serious again. “I’m sure you’ve seen by now how hard Samantha tries to stay present when she’s scared of being touched. And how she dissociates when she’s overwhelmed.”

Sherlock nodded but stayed mute.

“And how much research have you done on her disorder?”

Sherlock averted his eyes. He’d done an extensive amount of research on her condition ever since the first time he scared her in the kitchen, making sure to hide his investigative materials from possible discovery in his bedroom. He thought if he could understand what triggered her psychological response he could prevent an episode and protect her from pain. Foolishly he’d hoped his affections would compensate for her fears and she’d be healed enough to move onto the next stage given enough time.

But he’d never ventured far into the realm of considering what horrible thing had befallen her that left her so traumatized her mind had actually fractured into separate parts in a desperate act to survive the ordeal. Mainly because he would have to find whoever did this to her and murder them. _Barbarically._ He had to remind himself repeatedly that she had endured and thrived as an adult since then. And that she might be willing to visit him jail but that would put him at a significant disadvantage when it came to being able to have any sort of physical contact. The realization she’d put herself through hell trying to be with him when he was high and the cruelty he inflicted by asking for Angela had left him wondering if she’d ever be able to let him touch her again. Sex wasn’t everything in a relationship, but he’d been surprised how much he wanted it to be a part of theirs. At the very least he wanted to kiss her again. The last time was the day after she made love to him. And though she seemed to be trying to reach out to him they’d only managed a few awkward embraces and hand squeezes. But the worst thing, the very worst thing other than the lack of physical intimacy, was the knowledge Samantha was struggling and in pain and he could do absolutely nothing to offer her relief without causing more.

“I can tell by your face you’ve done your homework. That’s good.” John observed. He smiled reassuringly. “Now comes the easy part.”

The easy part? What in blazes was _easy_ about this ordeal? Sherlock must have looked incredulous because John laughed.

“The easy part is where you show her she’s ‘safe’ outside the flat. Do things with her that make her see she isn’t only supposed to be physically intimate. Go on a bloody date. Have dinner. See a movie. I know you hate these things and find them tedious but I assure you if you show her you aren’t only after one aspect of the relationship she will relax and let you in some more.” John explained this nonchalantly. Sherlock could tell he was enjoying the experience of instructing his friend.

“That’s it?” Sherlock simply couldn’t imagine it would be so simple. He’d been so focused on observing Samantha at the flat it hadn’t occurred to him it would be advantageous to spend their time elsewhere. Or that she’d even want to. Then, he supposed, most women liked to be courted outside the bedroom. And certainly outside an environment filled with blood and gore.

“And,” John added with renewed seriousness. “The fact that she hasn’t jumped you repeatedly even though she clearly wants to is actually a sign she’s truly in love with you. Yes. I have noticed. She’s been admiring you more than you know. It’s fun to watch you two, bumbling into each other by accident and stealing glances at each other when one of you thinks the other isn’t looking. If she didn’t love you she wouldn’t be so scared. _And_ she wouldn’t react to the way she’s doing now.”

John had a good point. Though he was wrong that Sherlock hadn’t noticed Samantha’s wandering eyes on his body. It made him crazy with lust and added to his confusion. Her body’s signals didn’t match up with her cognitive behavior at all and it was frying his brain trying to measure the dilation of her pupils and the cadence of her breathing whenever he drew near. All of her signals seemed miswired ever since they’d expressed their true feelings. The realization that exchange of emotional intimacy was the problem suddenly clicked the pieces into place. She trusted someone else before and they failed her utterly. Despite her affection and intentions towards him he had to prove he was the exception to the rule. His eyes widened and he made a little “ohhhh” sound with his mouth he hadn’t thought himself capable of outside of a case. He was really more of a “eureka!” kind of detective when he solved a mystery. Not an “I’m so slow I’m finally getting this” kind of idiot.

“Right then.” John smiled and added, “By Jove I think you’ve got it, Mr. Holmes.” John patted him lightly on the shoulder before standing up and leaving Sherlock to process his deduction and make plans for how to approach the challenge of wooing Samantha and winning her trust.


	2. Somebody Shake Me Sane

Samantha ran her hands through her hair in aggravation. God, _why_ couldn’t she _do_ this? It had been easy enough for her to crawl up on Sherlock’s lap and fuck him silly once. Why would it be so difficult to do it again? She wanted to. He wanted to. Then why? If she didn’t put out soon he was going to lose interest. Or she was going to explode. Every day since they’d slept together she woke up aroused and had to change underwear before she left for work. But every time she entered the flat at 221B her body went cold and her muscles tensed. Nothing had changed. Technically speaking, she was impotent.

Many times Samantha had considered asking Angela for help. But for some reason her alter ego wasn’t forthcoming with any answers. Or snide remarks. It was as though Angela wanted her to fail. _Or to succeed._ Samantha had worked very hard for a _very_ long time trying to hide her illness and self-treat so she could be herself and avoid rejection. Now she was rejecting the one person who accepted her with romantic intentions. The pain in Sherlock’s eyes when she pushed him away was excruciating. Sherlock obviously loved her—his eyes had never looked so tender and kind before. But had he really fallen in love with her or Angela? Yes, _of course_ they were the same person. But still…how long until he asked to see Angela instead? Or until she had to go to him together with her other half just to be there?

The little buzz of her phone vibrating in her purse startled her from train of thought. With irritation she fished it out expecting a call from the lab asking her to stay late. Without looking at the number she pressed the little green arrow and exclaimed “WHAT??” The voice on the other line was silent for a moment and she heard someone’s throat clear.

“Samantha?” Sherlock. Oh fuck.

“Sherlock?” Her voice cracked. She was unprepared to hear his voice so soon after deliberating how best to have sex with him. She blushed hotly and her nipples hardened. Heat began to pool between her legs and she squirmed in her seat. Sherlock’s deep baritone filled her with lust every time he spoke. But…He never called people. John had said…

“Yes,” another achem. “I was thinking you should take the night off from cleaning the flat.”

Oh. Yes. Well that wasn’t exactly surprising. Samantha felt a lump forming in her throat. He’d finally gotten bored. “I see,” she said with as little sadness as she could contain.

“I was thinking perhaps you’d like to…have dinner instead?” Sherlock’s voice sounded hopeful, bordering on…scared? _Surely not._

Samantha was overwhelmed. Sherlock didn’t _do_ dinner when it didn’t involve meeting a client for a case. As far as she could tell he didn’t eat much of anything at home either. “YES!! YES!! Oh, my God Sherlock, yes!” she exclaimed, unable to contain her excitement.

“Well. Excellent! I’ve made reservations for us at 7.” He exhaled audibly but his voice retained a significant amount of anxiety. She could almost picture him waving his hand awkwardly and running his long fingers through his thick curls. “I’ll send you the address or shall I pick you up at your place?”

“I’ll meet you there! I want to go home and change first. And, oh my God, Sherlock, I could kiss you!!” She was blubbering now and cursing her enthusiasm. _Shut up, Samantha, you’re embarrassing yourself._

His voice caught a little as he replied, “Shall I make them for 6:30 then?”


	3. I Have Heard That You Play the Way I Like It to Be Played

In the end they settled for a reservation at 7pm. Samantha wanted to be sure she looked perfect. _Our first date_ , she sighed as she exited the cab. Already blushing and slightly, _only slightly_ frustrated she was wet enough she’d have to change her panties again later and wondered why on earth she had chosen a clutch that couldn’t contain a spare. She entered the restaurant and surveyed her surroundings. This place looked… _expensive_. _Really expensive_. Self-consciously she tugged at the ivory dress Sherlock bought for Angela to wear undercover for the Barnes’ case. It was tighter than she was accustomed but fit her well enough to make her feel a bit naked, which only exacerbated the problem forming between her legs when she though of what Sherlock might think.  

Evidently Angela decided to pipe up the moment Sherlock hung up the phone, insisting that she go home early from the lab to prepare. Dubious at first, Samantha finally acquiesced—Angela _was her_ and therefore she wanted to help herself. Which was sort of normal. _God this is confusing,_ she mused as Angela directed her on how to apply her makeup and do her hair. Samantha would have thought Angela had been a French courtesan in a past life with the way she was issuing her imperious orders. Which was as well since they were going to a French restaurant. When Samantha went to gather her best pumps Angela shrieked in horror.

 _Wear the stilettos for Christ’s Sake!!!_ Angela boomed loud enough Samantha felt it might have come from outside her head for a change.

“But I can’t wear those, Angela. You _know_ I can’t. I’ll look ridiculous and fall down. Way more embarrassing than wearing ugly shoes, wouldn’t you agree?”

“NOTHING is more embarrassing than you wearing _those_ shoes with _that_ dress, Samantha. And besides, I think we’re well past your excuses. I wear stilettos. _I am you._ Therefore _you_ can wear them. Now. Practice!”

Deciding that Angela had a point Samantha spent the next half hour tottering about in her stilettos till she felt a fall would not be imminent should she wear them out the door.

“Wear the earrings. They’re mine but you can borrow them. And NO selling them! And have a nice time. I won’t be waiting up.” Angela delivered her final orders to Samantha sweetly but firmly, before yawning and disappearing into some recess of Samantha’s mind.

“I will never get used to this,” Samantha sighed as she twirled in front of the mirror and smiled with pleasure. “Well. Maybe I could try.”

The maître de smiled politely and bowed. “Right this way Madame,” he gushed as he held out his hand and deftly ushered her through the complicated array of tables. Samantha prayed she wouldn’t fall but her legs seemed to have found their footing—right up until she saw Sherlock. Her mouth fell open and she clamped it shut with a deep inhalation of breath. He was _literally_ breathtakingly gorgeous. Sherlock had preternaturally good taste in clothes but she’d never seen him so dressed up before. His indigo silk shirt was unbuttoned casually enough to reveal his long pale neck but he exuded sex appeal in a tailored black suit jacket and slacks. His face blanched slightly when their eyes met and she felt her face redden as he stood up to pull out her chair, nearly knocking over his wine. The maître de smiled knowingly and steadied the table as Sherlock made his way over to her and took her hand, pressing a light kiss on her knuckles. A shiver shot straight from her spine to her clit as she felt the heat of his breath against her fingers and it took everything in her power not to issue a little moan in response. His eyes never broke contact with hers and she could feel him deducing her with the laser like focus generally reserved for an extraordinarily interesting case. It was just as well he’d pulled out her chair because her legs suddenly felt very weak. She sat down with a little exhalation of breath and prepared herself for the battle of her life.  


	4. Will It End Or Begin in Your Cinnabar Juice?

Sherlock wasn’t sure exactly what he was expecting when Samantha walked through the door, but it certainly wasn’t the vision of a woman who approached his table wearing _that_ dress. His face flushed as he remembered the feel of it against his knees at Barnes’ villa when she wore the mask of Angela. For a moment the way Samantha moved in it made him question if _she_ was the one actually joining him for dinner. He would have had dinner with Samantha as Angela, of course, but he would have been in the awkward position of determining how best to proceed afterwards. If Samantha _was_ too scared to see him tonight he’d have to try another method for obtaining her trust. As it was, Samantha was clearly out of her element but seemed present enough…her eyes were that soft clear blue. They were also wild with anticipation.

“You look lovely tonight, Samantha,” he began then averted his gaze shyly. When had he gotten so bad at this? He had seduced a dozen women in the course of his work as a detective and yet this one left him flabbergasted. The way she nearly buckled when he caressed her fingers with his lips gave him a momentary sense of masculine pride, though it was followed equally by an overwhelming sense of helpless restraint. He wanted to taste those fingers and memorize the whorls of the tips with his tongue. Mentally he shook his head. _Focus._

Samantha returned a shy smile that grew broader as she accepted his praise. The noticeable blush in her cheeks turned to a warm glow. “Thank you Sherlock. You look…very handsome tonight.” Ah, the blush had simply commuted to her ears. He had chosen his ensemble well then. When she opened the menu her gaze fell. “I don’t…I don’t know French Sherlock…” She looked stricken.

“Please allow me then. I happen to speak the language fluently.” In horror he realized that statement might have come across as condescending. _Stupid stupid stupid! Sherlock you are SO stupid…_

“Why does that not surprise me?” She giggled and he was struck again by how exquisite she was when she did that. How did she do that to him? How could he make her do it more?

“Well…I can always teach you,” he grinned, suppressing the desire to issue the statement in too low an octave with a growl.

“Oh? Say something in French then,” she challenged as she cocked one eyebrow enticingly.  

His eyes narrowed. “ _Mon Coeur, Si vous mais me donniez la permission je vous baiserais en ce moment sur cette table._ ” He barely contained the mischief in his eyes by tempting fate, but he simply couldn’t help showing off with the way she baited him.

Samantha’s eyes grew wide as though in shock. For a moment he thought she’d understood what he just said, which translated _very_ roughly to “ _My heart, if you would but gave me permission I would fuck you right now on this table_.”

“Samantha?” His voice croaked a little despite himself and he felt himself tense involuntarily. _What was he, a juvenile?_

“No, it’s just that I only know one word you just said.” She shook herself a little dazedly, as Sherlock prayed fervently it wasn’t the word _fuck_. “Mon Coeur. My heart. Angela calls me that sometimes.” She smiled wanly then brightened. “But really, Sherlock, that was amazing! What did you say?”

“I said ‘My heart, you are the most beautiful woman I’ve ever seen and I would do anything you ask’.” God he wasn’t sure if he should really teach her French.

“Oh.” She looked down to her napkin as a flush from her chest traveled up her neck to her cheeks. “Thank you, Sherlock.” With a little bubble of laughter she met his eyes. “I adore you too and would do the same.”

Afterwards the conversation went smoothly enough. She told him about her life in the states omitting anything prior to 2 years ago, and he regaled her with tales of his exploits as the most brilliant detective the world had ever seen. Numerous times he noted how she skirted details of her life others would have shared without hindrance. He found himself wanting to show off for her, to make her want him more. And to know more about her—her interests, which were far vaster than he’d anticipated, and her longings, which he hoped included him.

“So…why genetics?” He asked as he filled her glass with more merlot. Samantha had already had two glasses but she seemed to be enjoying herself. Her blue eyes sparkled in the candlelight and Sherlock imagined he could feel the warmth radiating from her body when she leaned forward.  

“Mmm,” she wiped her mouth delicately. _That delicious little mouth, plush and stained red with the wine._ “Well that was Angela’s idea actually. I’d always been interested in genetics but then I’ve always been interested in everything so it was hard to narrow down the field. In the end it was what I chose to get out of—” She abruptly stopped speaking and looked wounded, biting back her words and nipping her lower lip in frustration.

“It’s alright, Samantha. You don’t have to tell me anything you don’t want to.” Sherlock put his hand out to graze her knuckles delicately in reassurance. Samantha accepted the gesture and he was relieved when she didn’t immediately pull away.

The truth was she _didn’t_ have to tell him anything. Because he knew it all already. Mycroft delivered her file to him after the incident at the airport. Or rather, his meddling brother left it sitting on the desk in the study at his flat after the PTSD birds and bees talk with John. Thankfully John hadn’t noticed it first or he would have flown into a rage. Sherlock paced about it furiously, stopping to open it then recoiling in disgust with himself. Samantha said there were things about her that might make him not want to be with her. Rationally he was certain she wasn’t an axe murderer or a spy but was reticent about violating her privacy. After she’d dropped the tray in fear of him in his kitchen he gave in, desperate for any Intel that might shed light on her past and preserve a future for them together.

What he found was shocking. Samantha had spent most of her childhood after the age of 3 in orphanages and moving from one surrogate family to another until she turned 18. Then she’d gone to college to study anthropology before moving from city to city approximately every 6 months.

Her psyche eval was also enclosed in the documents and Sherlock looked it over, trying very hard to remain objective. Samantha Marie Jones. _So her middle name is Marie._ Various reports were included. The earliest documented her emotional difficulties at the second orphanage.

Age 5…Patient claims imaginary friend tells her to do things she shouldn’t. Avoids interactions with others and resists being touched…Loves dinosaurs. Sherlock smiled. _Naturally she would._

Age 6…Patient continues to present nocturnal enuresis and night terrors. Increasing dosage of lorazepam and haloperidol for symptom management…

Samantha was diagnosed with manic depression at age 7. Patient set fire to bed in foster home. Increasing dosage to…

Age 15… Finally. Diagnosis Dissociative Identity Disorder…Patient presents with 3 distinct alters thus far. Others expected to emerge with time. Patient requested to be addressed as “Annabelle” during first episode. Exhibited childlike tendencies consistent with 3-year-old age group. Self soothes with coloring and play therapy. Another part “Marianne” appears to be around the age of 6 or 7… _The firestarter, Sherlock mumbled, thinking whoever she’d tried to set fire to likely deserved it._ Persona of Marianne runs away from home repeatedly to hide in the woods. This has resulted in police search and rescue teams being dispatched numerous times. Third persona, “Angela” manifests as being much older than patient and possesses behavioral characteristics consistent with sexually active adult in early to mid 20’s. Promiscuous conduct towards foster father has resulted in removal from current home though alter Angela flatly denies this to be the case…

The list went on. Interviews. Aptitude assessments. An overabundance of psychiatric tests. Other records included a police report and restraining order filed against a Nathaniel Brackenmore, age 25. Perpetrator suspected in attempted prostitution of victim, Samantha Jones, age 25. Charges of attempted rape and assault were dropped by victim on condition of restraining order… _Not that he bloody stopped did he?_ Sherlock growled.

What Sherlock wanted to tell Samantha was that he already knew everything and that there was not a single thing in that file that altered his perception of her. She was a survivor if she was anything. After all he had his own dark past with his family that was nothing to be proud of, thinking of Mycroft with disdain. Sherlock’s psych files weren’t exactly normal by any stretch either. But if he confessed this transgression she would never look at him the same way again. Or possibly at all. Samantha possessed an incredible propensity to abscond when she exhibited severe symptoms of her disorder. He wondered if the other parts of her, with the exception of Angela, had been integrated into her personality now or if she still occasionally struggled in an adult’s body with the mind of a child’s.

“I have an idea,” he said brightly and she looked up in hesitation. “What say you and I go to the art museum next?”

“Sherlock,” she laughed. “It’s half past 9. What art museums are open at this hour?”

He squeezed her hand and gave her his most mischievous smile. “We can break in. I carry my locksmith’s tools with me everywhere.”

“No you don’t!” She wiped a tear from her eye. “Wherever would you hide them in that suit? It’s very form fitting you know.” She blushed having said more than she’d intended before adding very softly, “Perhaps you’d like to see my place? It’s not the Louvre but it might suffice for tonight.”

Sherlock sucked in a breath. “I’d be delighted.” And signaled for the waiter they were ready for the check.

Samantha gingerly stepped into the cab with only the tiniest wobble on her stilettos. She giggled and pulled him in next to her. In alarm he wondered if she was actually drunk.

“I’m not drunk!” She exclaimed with her uncanny ability to read his mind and crawled under his arm to lay her head against his chest. Sherlock hoped she couldn’t hear the rapid fire of his heartbeat through two layers of clothing. “I’m just…really happy.”

This was exquisite. Unable to stop himself Sherlock leaned in to her hair and inhaled her scent. She took notice but did not stop him and nuzzled his chin. She fondled his knee as she gave the cabbie her address. Sherlock knew where she lived of course but had much better things to think about than whether she would have remembered. Much, _much_ better things.

“Sherlock,” she sighed, “you really are so easy to read.” She snuggled her forehead against his lips and inclined her head.

“I don’t believe that is so, Miss Jones,” he chided as he feathered her plush lips softly with his own. Her breath caught and she leaned into the kiss, caressing his cheek with her fingers tenderly. Despite himself he issued a little groan as she licked the tip of his tongue, tasting of wine and heat. _Why can’t this bloody man go any faster?_ he ranted in his mind as he gave the man in question a predatory glare in the rear view mirror. The driver seemed to have received the signal and the car sped up proportionately.


	5. I Laid My Weapons Down

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> FINALLY. Jesus Christ, the sex!

When they arrived at Samantha’s apartment Sherlock pulled her from her seat into an embrace before the cab departed. Her back arched and she giggled uncontrollably, offering up her neck for more kisses. _Yes please more of that._ Sherlock swept her up into his arms and carried her to her door, reveling in the feel of her body’s weight in his own. _Mine_ , he thought possessively. She fidgeted with her keys and laughed hysterically when she dropped them as he reached down to pick them up and open the door himself with her still in his arms.

“You really are quite clever with keys.” She grinned mischievously as her eyes shone almost black with desire. _Yes, this was how he wanted her. Ready for him to take her._

“I have my talents,” he whispered seductively, allowing her to feel the heat of his breath on her earlobe. She gasped and arched some more and noted with satisfaction how she clenched her legs in his embrace.  

He set her down on her feet and she kicked off her shoes before pushing him against the door to claim his mouth. Her tongue was hot and wet and tasted heavenly. She panted as he nipped her lower lip between his teeth when they pulled away for breath. He hoped to taste more of her in the very near future. His stiffening erection agreed wholeheartedly this would be a fantastic addition to his data stream. Perhaps an entire room would have to be constructed dedicated to her arousal now. He had smelled it the instant they got into the cab and he wondered how long she had squirmed in her seat, aroused under his gaze at the restaurant.

Suddenly she stopped kissing him and leaned her head and arms against his chest. “Sherlock,” she began, her voice filled with pain and frustration as her body tensed. “I’m…I’m scared.”

Sherlock stiffened his spine and forced himself not to let her feel his disappointment.  

_“Je ne vous blesserai de nouveau jamais, mon amour.”_

“Whatever did you just say detective?” She laughed despite herself.  

He took her face between his hands and looked directly into her eyes. “I will never hurt you again, my love,” then continued, “I promise. If you aren’t ready I _will_ wait.”

“But I don’t want to wait!” she cried out petulantly and Sherlock barely concealed a laugh thinking this was generally his M.O.. “I just don’t know what to do. I want you so much, Sherlock.” Little tears began to dot her eyelashes and he cradled her to him, kissing her hair. While he was overwhelmingly relieved she wanted him as much as he wanted her, Samantha’s body was shaking. All he could do was hold her and hope she would understand she was indeed safe with him as her lover.  

When he felt her breathing stabilize he held her to face him and searched her eyes. “Do you trust me, Samantha?”

She gently nodded without hesitation. Her expression was pleading. Pleading for him to take her but be gentle. Not to hurt her. The passion was still there, but it was still held in check by her fear. He _would_ go slow.

“Alright, show me to your bedroom.” Sherlock swallowed and hoped he would not fuck this up. This was his chance to prove himself to Samantha, and he had no intention of wasting it. 

She complied, taking his hand and leading him down a hall filled with paintings and photographs. All the places she had been in the United States. The Grand Canyon. Meteor Crater. Yosemite Park. She loved to explore. The little girl who colored and the tomboy who escaped into the woods were still there within her. He realized he found this comforting. She was still whole.

Samantha’s bedroom wasn’t a surprise. Books on every subject from science to art to religion lined the shelves of two giant bookcases. Her bed was covered in blue silk and an antique lamp decorated the dresser, along with an incredible array of mineralogical specimens. He smiled and stopped to inventory his surroundings. This was a sacred, special place for her and suddenly he was struck with the intimacy of her permission to see it.

She turned to face him and gestured helplessly. “Well, it’s not glamorous, but it’s my home.” She worried her bottom lip as she awaited his assessment.

“It’s beautiful, Samantha. Really, thank you for letting me in here. I’ve been wondering—” He blushed before continuing. “I’ve been wanting so much to know more about you.”

Suddenly she was in his arms again, kissing him fervently. This must have been the right thing to say. After several minutes she pulled away, expecting him to tell her what to do next. She really was hopelessly inexperienced and he wanted to do this right. He looked around the room again. The lighting was subdued and would do nicely. It seemed romantic and would also allow her to see what he was doing. She needed to see him. _To see his face and remember who she was with now._  And he desperately wanted to see hers.

“I’m going to take off your clothes now Samantha. Is that ok?” He waited for her reply. He would not go further if she did not want him to.  

She nodded her head and let out a nervous laugh. And then smiled.

As he slid down the zipper of her gown Samantha stiffened but then relaxed as he feathered kisses along the nape of her neck and under her ears. This was definitely an erogenous zone for her. The temperature of her skin was rising and falling and rising again in the most enticing ways and she was softening with his touch. He took a chance and nibbled on her neck, flicking his tongue every so slightly to gauge her reaction. Samantha whimpered softly in an attempt to suppress a moan as he slid his hands into the dress fluttering his fingertips around her waist, grazing the bottom of her breasts. The dress fell away and Samantha gave a tiny shiver of pleasure as her nipples hardened. Sherlock groaned reverently as he saw the beautiful flush of a dusky pink under his pale fingers. He cupped the heavy flesh and squeezed experimentally, thankful he could finally feel the weight of them in his hands. “Tres bon,” he whispered into her ear as he fondled her gently, kneading her nipples with his thumbs until they hardened even further. “You are so perfect, Samantha,” he whispered, leaning down to draw one pebbled nipple between his lips. Tentatively he began to suck, and when Samantha suppressed another groan he pulled away and looked into her eyes. “Let me hear you, Samantha,” he purred deeply, grazing his teeth on the underside of a breast.

Samantha bit her lip, then issued a moan so deep it was positively obscene. Sherlock chuckled and absently licked her nipple before asking, “Tell me, what do you feel right now?”

Samantha’s eyes widened and she squinted them shut against the sensations before answering. “Hot…and..” She blushed furiously and continued in almost a whisper, “aching.” Her eyes darted down to her knickers before they met his own again.

 _Oh fuck. Oh my god._ Sherlock felt like teenager again, and his cock pulsed to remind him there was a perfect remedy for the ache Samantha was describing with unabashed innocence. It was hardly believable that this was the same woman who’d ridden him senseless only matter of days ago. She was not here. _Yet._

“Would you like me to disrobe as well?” Sherlock backed away, suddenly feeling very shy, and very desperate. This was not something he’d ever asked before and he hoped Samantha didn’t hear the way his voice broke when he uttered the words.  

She gave a little laugh, “Please, Sherlock. I want to see you.” Sherlock sucked in a deep breath as he saw the way the tip of her tongue darted out to brush between her lips.

Those words nearly sent him over the edge of passion.  The idea of her admiring him with the same fervor made him gasp. He slid off his jacket and threw it into the far corner of her room. There was no time to be meticulous. She stepped towards him and began to unbutton his shirt—which he was certain may have been one of the most erotic things he’d ever experienced. Her delicate little fingers moved slowly, even clumsily, and he felt his own nipples draw tight under her ministrations. Just that act made him adore her even more. He unbuckled his belt quickly and let his trousers fall, kicking them away with abandon and toed off his shoes and socks, before pulling off his shirt. In his haste, his strip tease was less than erotic, he noted irritably, but Samantha was in awe. He was left in only his undergarments. And a rapidly hardening erection, which was impossible to conceal.  Pre-come leaked through the cotton and he ached for her more than he’d ever thought possible. Making love like this was not something he ever imagined experiencing with a woman—he’d truly given up hope after he drove most of the female gender away with his analyzing at age 13. Silently Sherlock wondered if it was true what people say about there being one woman for every man. He was certain she was born for him. And he hoped he had been born for her.

Stepping forward he pulled Samantha against his chest, wrapping his arms around her to comfort—whether for her sake or his, he truly wasn’t sure. Despite his cock pressing against her stomach insistently she didn’t flinch from the contact, even eliciting another moan as he pressed into her. He kissed her tenderly as he let one of his hands slide around her waist as the other thumbed her nipple. He let his tongue linger from her mouth to her neck, her clavicle, before sliding his hands around her arse and into her underwear, which was an enticing, nearly transparent lace ensemble. He knew with absolute certainty she had donned the garment for him, hoping he would get to see it that night. She was his, his love. His Samantha. He squeezed an arse cheek and let his other hand flutter across her stomach. Her breath hitched and he knelt down to his knees in supplication, gently caressing her hips. His eyes never left hers. Her scent was intoxicating—lavender and the ocean. Suddenly he realized he very much liked the ocean. The slickness of her desire seeped into the v between her legs and he licked his lips, which felt exceptionaly dry at that moment.

“Samantha, may I?” He asked in a hoarse whisper, hoping against hope she would say yes.    

“Mmm-hmm.” She bit her lip in response, but she definitely wanted him to continue. 

Sherlock leaned forward to part her legs with his thumbs and gathered her into his mouth, lathing his tongue against the soft dip of her heat through the lacey fabric. Instantly he was rewarded with a fresh influx of lubrication, which seeped through onto his tongue and dampened the little curls of her pubic hair. _Oh fuck. So delicious. So good._ She cried out and fisted his hair for leverage as she spread her legs wider. _That_ felt good too and he hummed in approval. But this position wasn’t going to last for long, because her shaking knees signaled an imminent collapse and he needed more.

“Sherlock!” She gasped, “I don’t think I can…” She was becoming less hesitant already and shuddered with desire. It was entirely too satisfying to see her like this, begging for his mouth inside her. 

He pulled away and cocked an eyebrow. “To the bed?”

“God, yes,” she exhaled breathlessly, looking a bit lost. She really wasn’t accustomed to asking for what she wanted. He would assist her in that department shortly. She laid down in the middle of her bed and he followed. Obligingly she spread her legs for him and he licked his lips, taking in the wonder of this vision.

“Ok?” He asked expectantly as he ran his hands the length of her thighs.

“Mmm-hmm.” She nodded as she arranged her hands above her nipples.   

Sherlock took his time even though he thought his brain might short out with the amazing influx of data. He lifted one leg to press little kisses on her ankle and her knee, trailing his way with his tongue as he moved towards the cleft of her mound. He paid special attention to the scar from when she was shot. _Shot for him._ He nibbled at it a bit to take in the texture. A scar such as this made her even lovelier. Her breathing was irregular, but she was far from panicking. In fact, she was completely mesmerized by his actions. Sherlock supposed as far as she was concerned this was the first time a man had done these things with her. The idea that he was the first man to traverse this territory with Samantha filled him with pleasure. With a predatory look of excitement he dipped a finger into her knickers, pulling them down her legs at a tortuously slow pace, enough to make Samantha whimper with impatience. He grinned lasciviously at her eager response, leaning down to blow hot breath against the folds of her sex before swiping his thumb from her entrance to her clit.

“Oh FUCK!” Samantha gasped as she flung her hands against the sheets and gritted her teeth. Her hips reflexively thrust upward, seeking the relief only he could provide. _Christ she was beautiful like this._ Sherlock took a moment to admire the lovely pink of her dripping cunt before he spread her legs wider, forcing the lips of her sex open with his mouth. Samantha let out a muffled scream and Sherlock groaned as he laved her clit before brushing in harder strokes. He sucked on the reddened little pearl greedily before settling down to fuck her with his tongue. Samantha’s eyes went wide with shock at the sensation and she bucked her hips as she panted and clawed at the sheets in desperation. She seemed to struggle in blissful agony as he took her apart with only his mouth. He felt the little twitches of her cunt on his tongue and he knew it was only a matter of time before she reached her release. When he was sure it was upon her she suddenly gasped deeply and screamed his name, before looking away into some distance he couldn’t see.

Immediately alarmed by this development he sought to calm her. “Stay with me, baby.   _Mon Coeur._ My love. Stay with me, Samantha.” He rubbed her abdomen with warm, assuring circles. This reaction was not entirely unexpected, but it was painful to witness her restraint all the same. 

She whimpered but seemed to come back into herself after a few moments. It was obvious she wanted to be taken over by pleasure but couldn’t seem to abandon the need to check her desire. Samantha spread her legs apart bravely and nodded for him to continue. She ran her fingers through his hair and he settled into her once again, alternately painting tiny ellipses and pushing his tongue into her entrance. She cried his name again and stiffened. She was ready for more, but she needed to see him looking into her eyes for reassurance. 

Gently he stretched up on the bed next to her, trailing passionate kisses from her lower abdomen up in between her breasts. He suckled on her pebbled nipples and hummed grateully as he felt Samantha’s muscles relax. She raised her hips against his right hand in invitation and he palmed her with gentle strokes. "More?" He asked her, making sure to study the dilation of her eyes and measure the beat of her heart with the thumb he’d placed on her neck. She was certainly aroused but she was still there. 

"Please..." she moaned into his mouth. "Please...Sherlock...inside."

Passionately overcome with emotion he kissed her deeply, and cried out as he slipped his middle finger into her, moving in shallow strokes. She whimpered into his mouth and bucked her hips against him and began to ride the wave of his hand. He added another finger to locate her g-spot and she howled in ecstasy. This was probably not the best time to explain to her that the technical term for it was named after a gent by the name of Gräfenberg and instead thanked God he’d read up on it for the sake of curiosity.

“ _Ma petit chéri._ So beautiful. You are so lovely. So good. Your pussy feels so good in my hands..." He soothed. Sherlock had never used the words "baby" or "pussy" before because he thought them too crass. But her eyes drew wide and she was definitely responding to the language. _So she liked him to talk dirty_ , he mused in pleasure.

"Sherlock?" She panted. "You too. Want you to feel good too." 

He grinned and kissed the tip of her nose. She was finally asking for what she wanted. This was all well and good but he murmured reservedly, "Please, Samantha. I want to feel you come in my hands." Adding to his embarrassment, "I need more...need more data. For my palace." Did he _really_ just say that? 

But evidently this was what sent Samantha over the edge. She gripped his wrist and dug her nails into his arm and opened herself wider, fucking his hand with wanton abandon. With her other hand she clung to his hair and pulled her mouth onto his. "Love you, Sherlock. Love you so much" she breathed into him before she threw her head back and sobbed. Her entire body shuddered violently and he felt the waves of her contractions on his fingers. He catalogued everything. Jesus she was tight and slick and wonderful. So wonderful. Tears streamed from her eyes but she was _so bloody happy_. She'd stayed with him. For the second time, but before he'd been tied up so he was less of a threat. Now she truly trusted him. And this was the first time it was just her. She had not worn the mask of Angela all evening. 

When she stilled, panting and making little semi-coherent murmurs against her pillow, he removed his fingers. Looking into her eyes predatorily he raised the sticky fingers to his mouth and sucked her come. He moaned and hummed before he repeated this action. She tasted so good, his Samantha. No cuisine he'd ever tasted was better than this. Her eyes were visibly shocked; captivated by the lewd gesture. _Yes, look at me. Look how good you taste_ , he thought as he measured her response. She held her breath until he bent down to feather a kiss on her lips again. 

"That was so wonderful, Samantha. My love. Thank you. Thank you for giving that to me." He cradled her face in his hand and kissed her forehead, her nose, and her full mouth again. So sweet. She was so, so sweet.

Abruptly he realized she'd slid her hands under the elastic of his boxers and began to struggle to slide them off. Her expression was worried and desperate. His eyes widened in disbelief and he stilled her hands with his own.

" _Ma chéri_ you don't have to—"

But her face crumpled into a sob. "Please Sherlock, please don't stop." She squirmed as she tried to hook her toes under his waistband. Her eyes pleaded for him to comply. Her chest heaved with the exertion.

"Alright, _ma chéri_." He positioned himself between her legs and pulled down his boxers, exposing his sore and aching prick and bollocks. "I will go slow."

"Please don't," she whined and struggled to pull him forward.  

He chuckled a little hopelessly. "I wanted to try." He lowered himself and gently nudged her entrance, captivated by the trail of white liquid leaking out of her cunt. This was killing him.

"Sherlock Holmes, if you don't fuck me _right this minute_ until I see stars again _I'm going to kill you!!_ " She looked serious and his mouth fell open in surprise. Well, he had wanted her to learn to ask for what she wanted.  

"Yes. Of course," he stammered dumbly. As he slid into her tight sheath she whined some more, before he thrust his cock inside with reckless want. “Fuck yes,” he groaned and tensed his jaw in an attempt to hold out longer. But this was no longer an act of making love. _This was carnal._

He howled in her mouth as he drove deeper into her, rocking her body wildly and holding her face clasped in his palms. Panting and studying her as he felt her pussy clamp down on his cock. This was surreal. Everything around him turned into just her, and the white noise of his world became silent. There was no more cataloging to be done except for the careful observance of her eyes. _Still blue, so very blue. Like the ocean in the Bahamas._ She panted and whimpered and wailed with every stroke. He worshipped her. She was a goddess, a firebird, a—

"Samantha, I can't anymore..." He begged as the coil in his spine tightened to the inevitable breaking point.  

She nodded. "Please... Sherlock, come inside me. I need you..." She thrust her tongue into his mouth and he arched into her, coming hard enough to see stars in his periphery as he continued to release himself in long throbbing pulses riding out the wave of his orgasm inside her. She stifled a scream as her quim suddenly pulled tight, and she came beautifully, milking his cock until they both became too sensitive to continue.

They lay wrapped in each other’s arms in satisfaction, panting and wheezing and covered in sweat. Finally he slid out and cradled his head on her breasts, taking a nipple between his lips and licking absently, his body finally sated. Samantha groaned as the wetness inside her seeped onto the bed and under his abdomen. Suddenly they looked into each other’s eyes and manic giggles bubbled up between them. Sherlock pulled himself up to lie alongside her lengthwise and she nuzzled into his chest.

"Ok?" She mumbled into his pale skin, sounding a little self-conscious. But on further inspection, he could feel her trying to conceal her smirk as she started giggling again. 

"Bloody fantastic. Brilliant, Samantha. Just brilliant." He grinned, unabashedly pleased. And so terribly tired.

“Sleep for now then?” Samantha registered his exhaustion but clearly wasn’t finished with him yet. That was indeed a good sign. She jumped up and grabbed a cotton shirt from a laundry basket in the corner and attempted to clean up their mess before padding to the bathroom down the hall. He waited for her to finish then made his own trip, noting with humor instead of disgust at the joyous expression on his face in the mirror. With a sigh he returned to the bedroom and pulled Samantha into a tender kiss before pulling her back to bed and under the wet comforter.

He rolled on his back and she slid under his arm. She stroked his cheek and raised her head from his heart every few moments to feather her lips across his jaw. _Mine. She is mine_ , he marveled before he heard the steady sighs of her breathing and followed her into sleep.

Several hours later he felt her stir. Samantha had rolled over with her back to him and he turned to curl around her. She snuggled her bum against him, rhythmically using her arse cheeks to stroke his cock—a cock that was immediately interested in acquiring a whole new set of data. She whined as she ground into him and pulled his arm around her to cover her breast. He kissed the nape of her neck and she moaned, bringing his member to full attention. Gently he raised her thigh and thrust into her cunt, groaning himself at the sudden warmth and tightness of her pussy. She was slick with desire—as though she’d lain awake deliberating whether to wake him for some time. _A lovely thought._ She held her leg up higher so he could thrust deeper and he rewarded her efforts with a pinch to her nipples with his other hand. God she was beautiful. His Samantha. So sweet and almost feral with her lust now. He licked a stripe between her shoulder blades and she screamed his name again. How he loved to hear her scream his name.

“Samantha,” he panted in her ear. “God, I love you, Samantha. Make me come again…” He slid the hand he’d been using to cup her breast down to her clit and palmed her, feeling the heat of her body and his shaft as he drove himself into her harder, reveling in the sensation of his bollocks on her cheeks. _A nice arse indeed._

She began to wail again, “So good…feels so good. Please don’t stop. Everyday. Want this everyday. Fill me everyday, Sherlock. Pleeeeease. Need—”

Sherlock liked this idea very much. It sounded splendid. She gasped and thrashed as he growled and bit into her neck, bruising her flesh before screaming out his name again. Or God’s. He wasn’t really sure. He followed her so quickly into ecstasy he might as well have lost consciousness. Her body went limp and he felt the pulsing of her orgasm in waves along the ridge of his cock. He was completely spent. As he moved to pull away she stopped him.

“Please. Stay inside me, Sherlock. Just a little longer.”

“As you wish, _mon Coeur_.” He chuckled and nibbled her earlobe. She sighed with relief as he wrapped himself around her body before falling asleep again.  


	6. The Tip of the Scorpion’s Tail

Samantha woke up with the Glamorous Detective Sherlock Holmes sleeping peacefully next her, awash in the relief that the previous night’s activities weren’t the result of a wet dream. She’d had far too many of those after she met this man. Rolling onto her stomach she surveyed him in repose. He looked satisfied enough. She licked her lips. Maybe even a bit debauched. The Cupid's bow of his lips had done some pretty impressive maneuvers. Not to mention that pointy little nose. His thick eyelashes twitched—he was deep in REM sleep. Good. Out like a light. She snaked out from under the covers, and kissed his forehead. She needed to pee and clean up before he saw “homebody Samantha”. Well more like “thoroughly fucked my makeup off” Samantha.  

After her shower, she brushed her teeth and appraised her reflection with some wonder and grinned. Was this what it was like to be deflowered? She didn’t look any different. And of course she’d had sex before, she reminded herself. But then, what happened last night was nothing like what she’d experienced at the tarmac with Sherlock. This was…better somehow. More freeing. Infinitely more intimate than what she expected.

Wickedly she retrieved an unused toothbrush she'd bought in a pack of two and deposited it in the cup alongside hers. Knowing Sherlock he wouldn’t blink twice—he had an uncanny ability to take in the entirety of a room and all its details as though he’d been studying it for hours. Worth a shot to get him going for even a millisecond with a little surprise, she thought as she toweled her hair off and proceeded to examine herself in the mirror again. The little bruise on her neck wasn't very red. But the thought of his teeth sinking into her skin as he begged her to make him come got her excited. So much so that she had to squeeze her thighs and force herself to get to the kitchen. She didn't want to _break_ Sherlock. _Yet._ First he'd need some food...


	7. I Ordered You a Pancake

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Just more fun sex with a little D/S thrown in at the end. Also there is French!

"What is this?" Sherlock seemed a little grossed out by the appearance of eggs, bacon, and pancakes. "Also, very funny about the toothbrush, Samantha." He grinned and came up behind her to rub his hands on her ass. "Don't toy with me, Miss Jones,” he purred seductively, “I will make you regret it." He growled in satisfaction in her ear and instantly she felt the wetness in her panties seep through the cotton. She suppressed a shiver the detective no doubt noticed and tried to blink away the distraction. Nope. Breakfast first.

"I was just trying to be a good hostess, detective," she stated coquettishly. Then added, "An American breakfast. Shall I make it French? I'd have to go fetch some cheese and a baguette from the store and leave you here though." Samantha made a little frown as though she were actually considering it.

"An American breakfast it is then." He said promptly and sat down at the table. His eyes darted around her kitchen, taking in every detail before settling on the pancakes warily. 

"They're buttermilk. And you need a lot of sugar if you're going to keep up your stamina," she scolded as she sectioned off a bite with her fork. She held it out in front of his mouth, which had broadened into a grin. "Say ahhh." He took the whole bite into his mouth and let the fork slide out obscenely against his plush lips. Her eyes widened and she realized she’d curled her toes at the spectacle. Ha. Two could play this game. Samantha leaned over and painted a little lick on the side of his mouth. "You had a little syrup there." 

"No I didn't." Sherlock's eyes were bright with mischief. Honestly Samantha had never imagined he could be so playful. Usually he only exhibited a fraction of this sort of glee when he was teasing John. He was like, like…a puppy? Well. More like a large cat with prey perhaps. _So exquisitely tempting._

"Hmmm. My mistake then." She giggled at the thought and licked her lips, laying down his fork. How could this man's skin taste so good? Sherlock was a vision at her table. His lithe form was naked except for his purple boxers and his hair was still wet from his shower, already bursting into little curls. As she admired his pink nipples Samantha wondered whether he would like to take the syrup to bed.  

Sherlock eyed her expression and scooped up his fork, eating his breakfast hungrily as though he'd registered her thought. She already ate hers while she was cooking and sat with her head propped up on her wrists regarding him. _He was hers._ She could keep him because he said so. Samantha wondered if she could get him to eat other things besides her and pancakes. He really _was_ very thin.  

"I was a little disappointed not to be able to shower with you," he said casually, crunching on a slice of bacon. He gnashed his teeth a little too invitingly, as though to remind her of their other function. Suddenly she felt a dull throb of sensation from the love bite hidden under her tee shirt. She hadn’t bothered with wearing pajama bottoms, but now that she was squirming in her panties she marveled at her own idiocy.  

"Hmmm. Well, I'm sure that can be arranged. We just have to get dirty again." She smiled sweetly and met his eyes in challenge. Inwardly she winced at the corny line and tried to figure out a way to either retract it or… _Dear god, what was she thinking?_ They should talk about last night, see where they were emotionally, maybe just spend time together _not_ fucking…

Sherlock stood up immediately and nearly yanked her out of her seat, leaning her backwards over the table so she could straddle his legs. He leaned forward to grope her thighs and licked her neck, causing her to gasp helplessly in surprise at the sudden turn of events and his thickening erection against her thigh. Even though she knew she picked this battle she was not expecting her tease to be called out in quite this way so soon. Foolish really, as Sherlock was never one to back down from a challenge, however slight. Samantha could sense his wicked smile and teeth near her ear and she nuzzled him affectionately with her cheek, inhaling the scent of her shampoo in his hair, vaguely disappointed his own scent had been washed away. With a low chuckle he reached around behind her and she shrieked to find the front half of her body covered in cold syrup. "Sherlock!!" She exclaimed in horror, as her nipples pebbled into peaks underneath the ruined fabric. But before she could reprimand him further he gripped her left breast through the sticky tee shirt in his hand and began to lick the syrup from her hardened nipple. "Oh! Oh GOD, Sherlock!!" Samantha bit her lip hard hoping to quell a particularly desperate moan.

He slipped his other palm into her panties and she startled at the intrusion. _"Still hungry."_ He mouthed the words as he bit into the circumference her nipple, and she elicited a sharp intake of breath. _Fuck, this felt almost too good. Could you come from having your tits sucked? The detective certainly had a very talented tongue…_

He slid a finger inside her to tickle the soft pad of heated flesh just inside her entrance and Samantha was somewhat surprised by the way she instinctively spread her legs for him without hesitation. She reddened as he let go to pull off her panties and wrapped his hands firmly under her ass, lifting her onto the table. She was already so very wet, dripping even, and it seemed he had no intention of taking this slow. Something very primitive sent a jolt of arousal to her core at the idea of being taken while covered in syrup. And then the reality of their position struck. 

"Ah! Sherlock, I don't think this table will hold me," she gasped in alarm. Falling through her table was the absolute antithesis of hot and she made to push him away.  

"Nonsense. I already did the calculations when I walked into the room. It's completely sound," he announced, taking a moment to pull down his boxers and grinning at her expectantly. She looked down at the heavy, full weight of his hardened cock and decided she might be ok replacing the table after all. The idea he had intended to fuck her on kitchen table before he’d even had a bite to eat sent a new wave of pleasure pooling between her legs.

Before she could protest further he pulled her knees around his slender waist and nudged himself closer. "To round 3 then", he announced cheerily—somehow having produced a glass of orange juice in his other hand. Samantha nearly gaped at his audacity. She was mesmerized. _What was he a magician?_ He tipped his head back and swallowed greedily before slamming the glass on the table and thrusting his cock into her with significant force. So good. _So good to have him inside her again, filling her, stretching her.._. She held onto the back of his neck for dear life as he pumped into her viciously, snarling in satisfaction as he became completely seated inside her body. He leaned in to kiss her and she tasted oranges as their tongues intertwined. _God DAMN how did I get so lucky_ , she asked herself as he pushed her tee shirt up above her breasts, which jiggled like mad from his efforts. Sherlock tried his luck licking off the syrup that had dripped down in between them and her moans became interspersed with laughter. The silly man was too tall to manage such a feat and clearly he found that frustrating. But he slowed his rhythm and planted a passionate kiss on her mouth, nipping at the line of her jaw.

"I love your laugh, Samantha," he panted and slowed down to grind his hips into her, his cock making deep ellipses inside her pussy. Then he sped up, snapping forward and stimulating that deliciously perfect bundle of nerves. Her body tightened with the new sensation and she found it very difficult to form words.

"Yours too," she managed finally. Then felt a shudder. "Oh God Sherlock, I'm about to come!"  

"Come on my cock, Samantha," he grinned lasciviously. "I _love_ it when you come on my cock." _Holy fuck. Hearing those words come out of his mouth._ This sent a wave of sparks right down to her clit and she cried out his name, opening herself wider with need.

Samantha’s eyes blew wide and she nearly passed out after hearing those filthy words from his mouth but he caught the back of her head before she hit the table. She wouldn’t have cared—the orgasm was so intense she wanted him to break her in half. _To ruin her forever. To destroy her utterly._ As the waves of bliss washed over her and made her twitch uncontrollably she thought this was definitely the way to go.

“Mmmm,” he hummed into her mouth. “So good, Samantha. You feel so good. _Merci du repas_ ,” he murmured against her skin as he slid down to lick more of the syrup on her nipples.

“And that would mean…?” She panted breathlessly.

“Thank you for the meal.” He grinned and nibbled on her ear. “I was thinking perhaps you should become my student. Unless that’s too much of a _dual relationship_ for you Samantha,” he quipped sarcastically.

“Not fair, Detective.” She pouted a little, resisting the urge to thrust out her lower lip. She would like to hear more French from his mouth. The same mouth that said those dirty things to her sounded so…well still filthy actually. She wasn’t sure what he said at dinner but she was reasonably certain it was not what he claimed. He looked like an animal ready to eat its prey. “Well…maybe that would be alright.”

“Excellent. Repeat after me, _veuillez me baiser jusqu'à ce que je ne puisse pas marcher_.”

She giggled but seemed to have a knack for the pronunciation because he was thoroughly impressed. “What did you just make me say?” She watched his face redden. So adorable. _Definitely indecent._

“You said you wanted to go to the shower to get cleaned up,” he whispered in her ear and kissed her cheek. Before she could call him out on his failure as a teacher he scooped her up and carried her teddy-bear style to the bathroom. He walked into the shower with her still clinging to his shoulders and turned on the water with his other. How was this lanky man so strong?

“Repeat,” he ordered imperiously. “ _Nettoyez mon vagin avec votre bouche._ ”

“ _NON!_ ” She answered defiantly, pursing her lips for emphasis. She knew _that_ word in French, and she was relatively certain he’d used the word vagina in his demand. She didn’t want him to stop though, just make him work for her cooperation.

His eyes seemed to catch fire and he growled. “ _Dites moi quoi faire et moi le fera_ ,” adding in a voice too low to be legal, “And trust me, you _want_ me to do it.”

Samantha’s eyes grew wide with the threat of missing out and she sounded out “ _Nettoyez mon vagin avec votre bouche_ ” as seductively as she could manage—hoping she didn’t mangle the pronunciation and make him laugh.

But he just… _stared_ at her. What was wrong? What was happening? This was not good. An array of possible and terrifying scenarios ran through her head as Sherlock set her feet gently on the tile so she wouldn’t fall and knelt before her on the floor. The shower was pouring on both of them now. “Sherlock?” she half whimpered. He looked utterly dumbstruck. She nearly knelt down to check on him but gasped. His cock jutted up between his legs like an angry spike. He looked up at her worshipfully before snatching her legs apart and planting his mouth between her legs. She moaned and bucked her hips against his face as his fingers dug into her thighs. He sounded like he was weeping as he sucked on her clitoris. Was this really happening? He lapped up the come that trailed out from inside her, suddenly warm from more arousal. He _was_ still hungry.

“Tell me! _Vous êtes un garçon dégoûtant!_ ” He groaned. Sherlock was pleading with her and she complied.

“ _Vous êtes_ –ah!— _un garçon dégoûtant._ ” One hand left her side and she realized he was masturbating. _Now that was fucking hot._

“Again!” He cried and sucked on her some more as she watched the way he held his cock firmly at the base, then stroking up and over the swollen head. She could see the pre-come leaking from the tip and wished she could be down there to taste it. Still, this was about Sherlock now, and in this she was taking him apart.

“ _Vous êtes un garçon dégoûtant!_ ” she wailed, nearly hysterical with the scene unfolding in front of her. Sherlock liked dirty talk too. _Evidently in French._ She _was_ going to have to learn. She propped one leg up against the door so he could go deeper and shouted the words again, this time as though she was scolding him. She was reasonably certain that was the way it should be done. This was absolutely fucking marvelous. It was just like that time at the airport. He was begging her. Inspired by this notion she fisted his hair as roughly as she dared and pulled back his head so he could see her eyes. Attempting to make use of both phrases with her limited knowledge of French conjugation from high school, she spat, “ _Nettoyez mon vagin avec votre bouche vous garçon dégoûtant!_ ”

Sherlock howled and convulsed as he came looking into her eyes. His seed spilled all around her feet in the shower and she wondered if she shouldn’t look up the phrase “now lick it up” later. She grinned as she knelt down to him and cradled his shivering form against her body. Next time she really wanted to taste him. But he was utterly spent as he leaned into her.

“Thank you…thank you so much, Samantha,” he panted in her ear. “That was. Exquisite.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I think I'm using the correct French here, but if I'm wrong please feel free to correct me!
> 
> "Veuillez me baiser jusqu'à ce que je ne puisse pas marcher."  
> -Please fuck me until I cannot walk.
> 
> "Nettoyez mon vagin avec votre bouche.”  
> \- Clean my vagina with your mouth. (I don't know what pussy is in French. I really don't.)
> 
> "Dites moi quoi faire et moi le fera."   
> \- Tell me what to do and I will do it.
> 
> "Vous êtes un garçon dégoûtant!"  
> \- You are a filthy boy!
> 
> "Nettoyez mon vagin avec votre bouche vous garçon dégoûtant!"  
> -Clean my vagina with your mouth you disgusting boy!"
> 
> Fun right? ;)


	8. He’s Getting In Too Deep In Underwater City

It was painful parting from Samantha. Which he determined was part physiological response. The term “lovesick” was based on scientific evidence after all. His body had definitely been flooded by serotonin, dopamine, and norepinephrine. This chemical release was better than any drug he’d ever had. When they were apart these were no longer being released into his brain. He’d never expected to experience the reaction himself though, and the come down felt unbearable.

He and Samantha spent the entire day together laughing and making love and fucking and the list went on. Thank God their date took place on a Friday night so they could spend Saturday together. Sherlock was falling in deeper than he ever thought possible. He had already killed for her. He would certainly die for her. _How much deeper could he go_ , he wondered as he arrived at 221B. When had he lost control?

The door on the first floor swung open and startled him before he’d finished removing his keys. Mrs. Hudson looked him over from head to toe, winked, and closed the door again. Well. He supposed it _was_ surprising that he’d spent the night somewhere other than the flat. Sherlock had the sinking feeling John might want to high five him as he walked into the study. What could he possibly say to defend himself against the oncoming onslaught of male bonding post coitus with a female?

Sherlock opened the door with a wince. John was sitting at the table reading the paper. John didn’t read the paper at night. It was half past 9.

“Sherlock.” John said casually enough, not looking up from his paper and sipping his tea.

“John.”

“And how was your date?” John ventured, still not meeting his friend’s eyes.

“Productive?” God, he was so besotted with Samantha he prayed it didn’t show on his face.

“Good.” John finally looked up. Sherlock froze just inside the doorway as though he might be attacked. John laughed hysterically and wiped a tear from his eye. Obviously he’d been holding it in and couldn’t help himself anymore. “God, Sherlock, you’ve got it bad.”

Sherlock sighed and joined his flat mate at the table. “Might as well get on with it then. What do you want to know?”

John positively giggled. “I wasn’t going to ask you anything. You’re the one who seems to want to divulge the sordid details or your illicit affair.”

The truth was Sherlock _did_ want to indulge himself in some bragging. Sex with Samantha was…well, it was phenomenal. He waited till John reached for his tea then asked mid-sip, “Do you think I should marry her?”

John spat out his tea in horror and wheezed back a choke. Sherlock grinned. Excellent. He was back in control.

“Sherlock, I think maybe you should slow down there. You might want to tie her down but—”

“I was only kidding John,” Sherlock rolled his eyes and got up to take a shower. He was sure he still smelled like sex. The truth was he sort of liked the idea of proposing to Samantha. She’d really be _his_ if he made her his wife and she couldn’t just leave like she had all the times before she’d met him. After all that’s what people did when they ‘had it bad’ wasn’t it?

“No. You weren’t Sherlock.” John looked serious then roared in laughter. “Christ, one night and you’re like this.” God, John looked so bloody happy for him. It was annoying. “Go on then. You look exhausted.” John was desperately trying to control the level of his voice in attempt to put on his most professional doctor tone of voice.

Sherlock huffed as he got up. “For the record I do not ‘have it bad’. It’s just a physiological response to being with someone you’re very fond of. The chemicals should level out. Eventually.”

John snickered but did not rebuke his comment as Sherlock made his way to his room.

Tomorrow he would see Samantha again and it would all be ok.


	9. Where She Swims and Swims

This was horrible. Samantha couldn’t concentrate on her homework at all. Everything she read just looked like numbers on a page. She couldn’t sleep and kept going over their lovemaking in her mind every time she lay down. She’d have to erect another room in her mind palace. Ha. Erect. Oh God, she was getting _stupid_. What if Sherlock got bored with her if she was stupid? Waves of fear washed over her psyche. _It’s ok,_ she told herself firmly. This is just a physiological reaction to being in love with Sherlock. It will level out the longer we’re together. She thought of their incredible compatibility in bed. _Probably._ She decided she’d better do something that would keep her mind occupied and think of Sherlock at the same time. It was the only way she’d feel sane again. She took out her laptop and typed in the phrases in French he’d said to her and asked her to say earlier in the day. She’d have to be a quick study if she wanted to see that manifestation of utter desperation for release on his face again.

_“Veuillez me baiser jusqu'à ce que je ne puisse pas marcher.”_

“Please kiss me until I cannot walk.” Oh, that was fun. She was glad she said that to him. But wait that wasn’t quite right. _Baiser_ also meant _fuck_. Naturally. Hence the blushing.

She continued gamely. Thank God for search engines and the “did you mean this?” function. She’d never be able to spell half the things he said correctly.

Next was “ _Nettoyez mon vagin avec votre bouche_.” _Oh_. So she was right. _Vagin_ _was_ vagina. And he’d asked her to order him to clean hers with his mouth. A lovely order. She’d definitely remember that one. The idea of restraining him and telling him to do that sounded splendid.

But _“Vous êtes un garçon dégoûtant”_ was the best of all. He liked to be called a _filthy boy_. She hummed as she licked her lips. _You really are a pervert, Detective Holmes_. If he wanted to be dominated she’d happily comply. She liked it when he took control, but she relished having him at her mercy too. Suddenly the image of his erotic expression as he begged her to call him names in French made her wet with anticipation. It was clearly good for him and she wanted to see more. She still hadn’t had the opportunity to taste every part of him. Perhaps he’d let her tie him up so she could take her time.

Samantha’s search queries delved into the dark world of BDSM and her heart beat faster. Why had she never thought of this before? The realization it was because it was Sherlock who had finally inspired her gave her a wicked grin. She trusted him implicitly now and hoped he felt the same. Now how could she truss him up again…her eyes widened in shock as she saw a plethora of options opening up to her.

Suddenly Samantha found herself able to concentrate much better.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Ok that's it for part 3 everybody! Thank you for reading! I'll be posting Part 4 soon and try my hand at some mild case fic and then some BDSM. ;}


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